Some of us are closer to Earth than others. Hmmph. The beastling likes to think himself quite close to said earth, given his terra-related name and his status as part of the equine race - he has been taught his history, of course, that in the olden days of Isilme from where his long bloodline hails, his species had been associated most closely with earth. His father and grandfather before him wielded earth magic, blessed upon them by the great Nieque himself. Hearing such a statement come from a winged unicorn, then, is rather odd to the youngster, because he of course has little idea that she bears equine blood, and God blood. Pegasi, with their wind, and unicorns with their water, are about as far away from the earth as it is possible to be. He allows himself to hold her golden gaze with his crimson one, his brow cocking. "You are quite the philosopher for one so young, kis holló," he points out, his voice flexing easily into his dam's Hungarian as he gives her a name of his own. Heavens, when he was her age he could barely string more words together than 'dragon' and 'pretty'.

He watches as the tree continues its path, seeming to cover her like a blanket. Still he fights to keep his expression stony, but his bloodied gaze is greedily fixed on the earthen magic. What he would give to be blessed with such power! He has his dragon now, of course, so that is one thing to be ticked off his list of demands, but the next is magic. Little does he know that magic already flows through his bloodstream, simply waiting to be triggered. It is rather worrying quite how much gluttony the colt possesses, but he craves strength in all its forms. He will ascend, as Mother bids him to.

She reveals she asked her mother not to name her, and again the beastling feels his face twisting into sheer bafflement. One could simply ask their dam not to name them?! So he skirts around the subject, instead focusing on what she will actually become. He supposes the freedom to choose your own name must be quite a daunting task, as it will be what defines you for the rest of your life. "So you're going to choose your own name? Anything in mind?" If he had his way, she would be called little raven or creepy tree-girl, but somehow he doesn't imagine those suggestions would go down too well. The boy also doesn't miss the mention of her father not being present at the birth, leading him to naturally assume her mother was the victim of a one-night-stand, the object of a stallion's lust and his seed but not his love - just the way it should be, in the colt's sexist little mind.

Eyes dart around her body as she becomes tree, still fighting a titanic battle against his own face as he tries to keep any sense of awe out of his expression. He is momentarily distracted as she asks his name, and for the first time he is somewhat loathe to give it, in case she judges him for it and taints it for the rest of his life. "Volterra," the young gladiator eventually reveals, narrowed gaze locked on her as he awaits an opinion he's sure she will give.